Soccer System: All the Skills, One Player!

Willian returned to midfield as if nothing had happened. He didn't celebrate like the others, who cheered and shouted at the edge of the pitch. Neither a smile nor raised fists appeared on his face. He just walked with the same serenity as someone doing a simple task, like organizing papers on a table or cleaning the sink after breakfast.

Daniel and Luiz Fernando, still in the area, looked at each other, confused.

"Was he there?" asked Daniel, straightening his socks incredulously.

Luiz Fernando shrugged, his eyes still searching the pitch for an answer. "I didn't even see him go in. I only saw the ball go in. He might have been, but... it's as if he wasn't."

That was Willian's trademark: he moved like a shadow, calculating, almost invisible. While most strikers were attentive, like Ethan, who shouted, gesticulated and made noise, Willian simply waited. He knew exactly where the ball would land. And when it did, the finish was as natural as a sigh. There was no drama, no hesitation.

Anton, in the B-Team goal, looked at the net and punched the ground hard, but not out of anger. It was a kind of resigned frustration. He hadn't seen Willian either. It was as if the striker had materialized out of nowhere, like a character out of the shadows.

Lucas ran over to Denis, the two of them trying to reorganize the B-Team.

"Okay, calm down! Calm down! That wasn't luck, so we can't let him do it again," said Lucas, trying to cheer up his colleagues.

Denis, however, wasn't so confident. He looked at Willian, who was now standing in the center again, as silent as ever. He seemed to meditate on something distant, as if the pressure of a decisive game didn't exist.

Something about that player troubled Denis deeply. It wasn't just the lack of emotion; it was the way he seemed completely oblivious to the surrounding chaos. The shouts of encouragement, the complaints from teammates, even the ordinary noises — nothing seemed to penetrate Willian's concentration camp.

Lucas patted Denis on the shoulder, bringing him back to the present. "Focus, man. We need to close him down. If he's in the center, Daniel has to stick to him like a shadow."

Denis nodded, but kept looking at Willian. "It's like he's not playing with us. He's... somewhere else."

Lucas didn't reply. He was busy gesturing for Aidan and Loki to cover the wings, while Felix positioned himself closer to the defensive line to provide support. The truth was that he also felt the same way as Denis. Willian didn't just seem distant; he was unpredictable, an enigma on the pitch.

On the other side, Ethan was trying to contain his frustration. He hated to admit it, but the switch was working.

"How does he do it?" Ethan muttered to Javier, who was standing next to him. "The guy looks like a ghost. It shouldn't even work."

Javier laughed lightly. "It's because he sees the game in a way that no one else does. While we're thinking about the play, he already knows where the ball is going to be. It's instinct, but also patience. And that's rare."

"Patience?" Ethan snorted, kicking the turf. "That doesn't work for me. I prefer to get straight to the point."

"That's why you're you, and he's him," Javier replied, rushing to position himself as the game resumed.

Ethan had no answer to that, so he just clucked his tongue and walked over to his field for the game to be restarted.

So, when the game returned to normal, with the score tied at 1-1, Team-B, even pressured by the scoreline, still wanted to keep the flame of competitiveness burning.

However, Team-A, energized by their lead, seemed to have found their rhythm.

Javier took charge like a maestro, regulating the passes and directing the positioning of the surrounding players.

Lucas tried to intercept and reorganize the B-Team's lines. But, whenever they got the ball, the A-Team's defense was compact and skilled. They marked Miguel, Raphael, and Arthur well because they were used to marking good players.

Also, Team-B's defense needed to be compact. Willian's constant threat gave Team-A more space in midfield.

Lucas, in midfield, gritted his teeth. He knew it wouldn't be easy to regain control of the game. The A-Team were in top form, using the whole pitch to open up space and create chances. Still, Lucas wasn't willing to give up.

"Raphael, squeeze him! Don't let him breathe!" shouted Lucas, pointing at the opposing No10.

Raphael obeyed, approaching Javier like a shadow. However, the Team-A midfielder was experienced. He took two steps back, protecting the ball with his body, and then found Simon free on the right flank.

Simon dominated and advanced with his eyes fixed on the space ahead.

Loki went to meet him, running like lightning. He intercepted, but the ball went wide. A corner for the A-Team.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

In the corner of the right field, Javier carefully tucked the ball away. He watched the area with attentive eyes, analyzing the movement of his teammates and opponents.

Ethan gestured impatiently, asking for a cross into the penalty area.

Willian, however, was standing on the edge of the penalty area, seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him.

The cross came in slow and high in the air. The ball spun in the air, towards the confusion of bodies in the area. Ethan rose high, fighting with Daniel, but it was Felix who cleared with a powerful header. The ball, however, fell at Willian's feet.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. All eyes were on him. Willian controlled the ball with an almost supernatural calm, as if the chaos around him didn't exist.

Denis ran towards him, trying to close the space, but Willian made a slight movement with his foot, moving the ball to the side. He then unleashed a low, precise shot that flew through Daniel's legs and straight into the left-hand corner of the goal.

Anton tried his best, but it was too late. The ball had gone into the net.

2-1 to the A-Team.

Willian didn't celebrate. He just turned and started walking back to midfield, as if he had just completed a routine task. Some of his teammates ran to hug him, but he politely pushed them away with a hand gesture.

"Don't be so happy. Just keep doing your job and play the ball for me." Willian said, which pushed Javier and the others away.

The silence that followed Willian's goal was deafening for the Team-B players. Not the silence of the stands — those were empty. The game was just a training session. It was the internal silence, the one that invaded everyone's mind.

Lucas looked at the scoreboard in the pitch's corner, now reading 2-1 to Team-A. But it wasn't just the score that bothered him; it was Willian's cold manner.

The striker walked back to midfield as if the goal was something trivial, a formality. More than that, the way he had dismissed his teammates with that dry comment — "play the ball to me" — had triggered something in Lucas. An irritation he could barely contain.

As the teams repeated, Lucas walked with hurried steps towards Willian.

Denis tried to grab him by the arm. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to give this guy a message," Lucas replied.

"Never mind that! He's on their team. It's not our problem!" insisted Denis, now a little worried.

Lucas didn't reply. He was already a few steps away from Willian, who had his hands around his waist and was looking up at the sky.

"Willian!" Lucas' voice cut through the air and caught everyone's attention.

Willian lowered his gaze, not in surprise, but with the same imperturbable seriousness he had displayed since the start of the game. He straightened his posture, arms relaxed at his sides, as he watched Lucas approach.

"Something wrong, Tanaka?" asked Willian, almost disinterested.

"Yes, I do. What's with talking to your companions as if they were your employees?" snapped Lucas.

Willian arched an eyebrow. For a moment, he looked more curious than annoyed. He tilted his head slightly to one side, as if analyzing Lucas. Explore more at empire

"I said what needed to be said," replied Willian, directly. "They need to play what they know, not celebrate as if the game is over."

"That's not how you play in a team, man. Nobody likes to be treated like that. Who do you think you are? Cristiano Ronaldo or something? Your arrogance, arrogance, or ego doesn't help you at all." Willian sighed.

Willian sighed. "Arrogance? No, that's not arrogance. It's knowing what needs to be done to win. They don't have to like me. They just have to play their part. I, as a center forward, will score as many goals as I can."

Lucas laughed, but it was a laugh laden with irony. He shook his head in disbelief.

"You're a skilled player, but you act like a machine. There's no soul in what you do. And in soccer, that matters. People play as a team."

"Soul doesn't score goals. Nor does it stop the opposition from scoring. Don't give me that childish talk about friendship."

This sentence made the tension on the pitch increase even more. Some players exchanged uncomfortable glances. Ethan, who was watching from a distance, crossed his arms, apparently satisfied with the clash. Perhaps he hoped Lucas would put Willian in his place.

"If you haven't yet understood that soccer isn't just about technique, you may be a worse player than you think. If you choose to continue down this path and become a professional, all you'll feel is a huge void."

"At least I'll become a professional. I'll do what I can to do that. However, I can't say the same for most of the players here." He looked Lucas in the eye. "Or do you think everyone on your team will become a professional? This sport isn't that benevolent. Not everyone who makes it into a professional team actually becomes a professional. Thinking that is irrelevant."

Lucas nodded. "You didn't say that..."

"Yes, I did."

"Look around you, kid."